Subcultures are cultures formed by a social minority group that does not belong to the mainstream, and youth subcultures are subcultures specifically of youths. Youth subcultures have distinct clothing styles that differentiate them from popular culture and through which they express their values and individuality. Korea has a short history of subcultures, but it has quickly formed numerous unique subcultures influenced both by existing subcultures of Euro-America and Korean society. The purpose of this research was to examine Korean youth (...) class='Hi'>subculture styles in terms of how they have evolved in a short period of time and how they have been affected by foreign and domestic elements. It provides insight on the symbolization of Korean youth subculture styles and how the changing styles reflect the state of mind and values of Korean youths today. (shrink)
This study explores the relationship between individual birthplace [rural birthplace (RB) and urban birthplace (UB)] and consumer unethical behavior (CUB). As a result, CUB is verified to closely relate to individual birthplace, and those new urban residents with RB are found to behave more ethically than the patrimonial urban residents with UB in CUB4 (“no harm/no foul”). This study also finds that the differentiation of CUB between two categories of consumers is correlated with the personal moral ideology or Machiavellianism (MA) (...) functioning with varying degree, which idealism ideology is a main variable impacting on the unethical behaviors of the members born in the rural subculture while MA for those in the urban one. Additionally, the “no harm/no foul” (CUB4) and the “actively benefiting from a questionable action” (CUB3) in the list of CUBs are found to be more efficient in discriminating the two groups than the other two kinds, the “passively benefiting at the expense of others” (CUB2) and the “actively benefiting from an illegal activity” (CUB1). The results shed light on the roles of individual birthplace in influencing CUB and contribute to a better understanding on the effects of subculture on CUB. (shrink)
Disparity in consumer ethics reflects cultural variations; these are differences in the collective programming of the mind that distinguishes one culture from another. This study explores the differences in consumer ethics across cultural dimensions using Hofstede's (in Culture's consequences: international differences in work-related values, Sage, Beverly Hills, 1980) model (collectivism, masculinity, power distance, and uncertainty avoidance) and Muncy and Vitell (in J Bus Res 24(4): 297-311, 1992) consumer ethics model (i.e., illegal, active, passive, and no harm). This is the first (...) study to empirically explore consumer ethics using these two major constructs. Seven hundred sixty one African American consumers were used to test the four major hypotheses developed in this study. Current research has revealed that there are significant differences in ethics between consumers who score high and consumers who score low on Hofstede's four cultural dimensions. In general, this research revealed that consumers who score high on collectivism, high on uncertainty avoidance, low on masculinity, and low on power distance scales reject questionable activities more than consumers who score low on collectivism, low on uncertainty avoidance, high on masculinity, and high on power distance. This study should prove valuable to international marketers because the Hofstede cultural model allows managers to identify differences in consumer ethics across different cultures and thus provides a theoretical base for designing effective marketing strategies. (shrink)
The essays in this collection, which derive from the conference 'Alienation and Alterity: Otherness in Modern and Contemporary Francophone Contexts', held at the University of Exeter in September 2007, explore various aspects of this ...
Abstract: I argue that for psychological and social reasons, the traditional “Conflict Model” of science and religion interactions has such a strong hold on the nonexpert imagination that counterexamples and claims that interactions are simply more complex than the model allows are inadequate to undermine its power. Taxonomies, such as those of Ian Barbour and John Haught, which characterize conflict as only one among several possible relationships, help. But these taxonomies, by themselves, fail to offer an account of why different (...) relationships prevail among different communities and how they succeed one another within particular communities—that is, they contain no dynamic elements. To undermine the power of the “Conflict Model,” we should be seeking to offer alternative models for science and religion interactions that can both incorporate the range of stances articulated by scholars like Barbour and which can offer an account of the process by which differing attitudes succeed one another. As a step toward this goal, I propose a general “interacting subcultures model” and illustrate its applicability in a small number of mini-case studies from Early Modern Britain and France and with glances toward contemporary America. (shrink)
Tests of models of reciprocal interactions of testosterone and behaviour patterns in honour subcultures, if based on adult samples measured at a single point in time, would be aided by measures of behaviour in such samples that indirectly index basal testosterone levels at earlier developmental ages, for example, hand preference and other measures of cerebral dominance. Such models raise questions about the social preconditions of honour subcultures, and their indirect effects on health.
One of the most significant cultural manifestations in buyer behavior may be the way in which a product is evaluated as a function of its various attributes. People from different cultures have different experiences and value structures which may cause them to view products differently. This purpose of this study was to examine variation in product evaluation across three consumer ethnic subcultures in Malaysia: Malay, Chinese, and Indian. Mobile phone was chosen as the target product in this study. Exploratory factor (...) analysis, comparison of means, and analysis of variance were employed to analyze the data collected through a questionnaire survey. The results indicate that image, reference group influence, media, and post-sale services best distinguish the three ethnic groups in their evaluation of mobile phone attributes. Theoretical and managerial implications were discussed. (shrink)
The impact of Foucault's work can still be felt across a range of academic disciplines. It is nevertheless important to remember that, for him, theoretical activity was intimately related to the concrete practices of self-transformation; as he acknowledged: `I write in order to change myself.' 1 This avowal is especially pertinent when considering Foucault's work on the relationship between sex and power. For Foucault not only theorized about this topic; he was also actively involved in the S&M subculture of (...) the 1970s. Although his explicit discussions of S&M are somewhat piecemeal, in this article I will show how they provide a useful point of access into his broader conception of power relations. Having first reconstructed Foucault's quasi-Sartrean account of creative self-transformation specifically through one's sexuality I will then explain why his defence of S&M (as embodying `strategic' power) is insufficiently sensitive to the inherent ambiguities of this `game'. Key Words: consent desire identity limits pleasure power role-play subjectivity trust. (shrink)
Coffee is an important commodity and an important comestible, one that is momentous not only for nations’ economies but also, at the micro-social level, as a resource for interpersonal sociability. Among a subculture of certain coffee connoisseurs, the coffee itself is a topic that is an organizing focus of, and for, that sociability. This paper is an empirical investigation of online narratives produced by hobbyist participants in what coffee aficionados refer to as the third wave coffee phenomenon and engages (...) and challenges extant perspectives social aspects of taste by inspecting members’ insights concerning their conceptions of taste and their participation in a subculture that comprises taste as an important, central defining aspect. The analytic point of view deployed in this paper is ethnomethodological, one that, instead of emphasizing a priori the social structural characteristics of these connoisseurs as do Bourdieu (In: Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, tr. Richard Nice, Routledge, New York 1984) and those who work in his tradition, emphasizes discovery of members’ own displayed understandings of the topic at hand. As such, this paper is more than an investigation of the coffee geek subculture but is also an invitation to an ethnomethodologically-informed sociology of taste. (shrink)
In his story entitled "Toenails," the surgeon Richard Selzer (1982) warns readers that total immersion in medicine is wrongheaded. Rather, to ensure their own health, doctors should discover other passions that permit them periodically to disconnect from medical practice. Selzer's surgeon character devotes his Wednesday afternoons to the public library, where he joins "a subculture of elderly men and women who gather … to read or sleep beneath the world's newspapers" (p. 69). Among these often eccentric personages is Neckerchief, (...) an arthritic man in his 80s who suffers from severe foot pain. His toenails, never trimmed because of his inability to reach them, have grown so long that they curve beneath his toes and .. (shrink)
There is a substantial question in the philosophy of language whether understanding a language involves knowledge of some metalinguistic facts about words. Does understanding a language in part consist in knowing what the words in that language mean? Most of the debate about this topic is carried out in the philosophy of language proper, where it seems to belong.1 But recently a subculture of philosophers has emerged who have argued that one of the lessons we must draw from issues (...) in the philosophy of logic and theory of truth is that this picture of language understanding is mistaken. These philosophers aim to make sense of the idea that the paradoxes show that our language itself is inconsistent. One way this idea is spelled out is that the semantic facts that are constitutive of the meaning of certain words are inconsistent with each other. Language understanding thus can not be based on knowledge of semantic facts, and not even on true belief about semantic facts. The semantic ‘facts’ we take to obtain about our language don’t obtain, and so they can’t be known or truly believed. Another attempt to make sense of an inconsistency theory is to hold that language understanding involves believe in a false semantic theory. The main proponent of this line of thought is Douglas Patterson who has argued that we can’t know the truth conditional semantic theory for our language that we employ in understanding utterances of English since that truth theory can’t itself be true. The paradoxes show, he argues, that the compositional semantic theories on which language understanding is based itself aren’t true. And since these theories are not true they can not be known, nor can they be the content of a true belief. Language understanding is instead based on sharing a false belief about what semantic facts govern our language. But since this false theory is shared among speakers of the language, communication is still possible. We come to know what speakers are trying to say, even though we do not know what the truth conditions of the sentences they utter are.. (shrink)
David Garland?s The Culture of Control tells us more about the political culture of a post?11 September world than even he must have anticipated. The core of Garland?s cultural argument is his elaboration of a Durkheimian concept of moral individualism, to which he attributes a trend?setting influence lasting into the new millennium. He argues that, among youth, this new cultural influence has an egoistic, hedonistic quality, linked to a non?stop consumption ethos of the new capitalism. He emphasises that it is (...) the disadvantaged rather than the more privileged participants in this hedonistic youth culture who have been singled out for legal exposure and criminal sanctioning in a highly politicised binge of late modern penality. Garland?s prescient account exposes the first and most visible layers of social control that still hide vast inequalities in crime and punishment. There are important untold stories of the unpunished, more privileged participants in the hedonistic ?party? subculture of late modernity. The youthful patrons of this subculture, like their officially deviant counterparts, are disaffiliated and distrustful of conventional institutions, including contemporary work, family and politics. Garland awakens an awareness of our need to learn more about both the sanctioned and unsanctioned youth who are prominent and consequential players in our changing culture and politics. (shrink)
In this paper I examine the history and style of the real-life skinhead subculture in order to clarify its nature and to highlight its preoccupation with the ideal of "authenticity." I then use the insights thus gained in order to understand why it is that the skinhead characters in such fictional films as Romper Stomper, American History X and The Believer are, despite their neo-Nazism, granted a sympathetic depiction.
Abstract This paper discusses possibilities of ethical perception, and draws a strong contrast between traditional rationally?based views, and more recent theories involving both narrative and feminist ethical points of view. I argue that these two latter categories share more conceptually than is usually acknowledged, add to this the possibility that some theories of aesthetic perception bear similarity to points of the non?rational moral theories, and discuss whether this similarity is organic or incidental. The finding of structural similarity lends support to (...) writings both of John Dewey and of major poets arguing for the relationship between aesthetic and ethical sensibilities, and to the function of the arts as morally illuminating, not prescriptive. This relationship is explored as it occurs in the subculture of our youth, both in and out of school, and findings are drawn relevant to curriculum design both within and beyond what is conventionally considered moral education. (shrink)
ALAN SOKAL'S HOAX, "Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity," which was published in the "Science Wars" issue of Social Text ,1 and the debate that has followed it, raise important issues for the left. Sokal's article is a parody of postmodernism, or, more precisely, the amalgam of postmodernism, poststructuralist theory, deconstruction, and political moralism which has come to hold sway in large areas of academia, especially those associated with Cultural Studies. These intellectual strands are not always (...) entirely consistent with each other. For instance, the strong influence of identity politics in this arena seems inconsistent with the poststructuralist insistence on the instability of all identities. Nevertheless, no one who has participated in this arena can deny that it is dominated by a specific, highly distinctive subculture. One knows when one finds oneself in a conference, seminar, or discussion governed by this subculture, by the vocabulary that is used, the ideas that are expressed or taken for granted, and by the fears that circulate, the things that remain unsaid. There are many critiques of the literature that informs this arena, which can for convenience be called postmodernism (though the term poststructuralist.. (shrink)
I examine the new analysis of gay community and liberation offered by Dennis Altman in The Homosexualization of America. Three distinctive theoretical constructs are analyzed and criticized: (1) a new view of psychosocial development; (2) a new concept of gay identity; and (3) A set of causal hypotheses designed to explain the new direction of the gay subculture.
This article focuses on the next generation of entrepreneurs likely to emerge in Silicon Valley. It profiles two tech-savvy college students and describes the Valley’s demographics and subculture to show how previous models of the entrepreneur (the pre-Internet and geek subculture varieties) are blending to form a new sort of entrepreneur for a computer industry in transition.
This paper aims to establish and identify the linguistic devices through which the niche printed media specifically targeting a young female local audience identify, shape and construct their ad- dressee by acknowledging their subcultural ideology. Our intention is to trace the measure of congruency between the two types of discourse: of the encoder and of the decoder. Such instantiations as were found at the level of text functions, discourse patterns and strategies, rhetorical and linguistic items testify to our conclusion that (...) the niche printed media – specifically teen-oriented music and lifestyle magazines – gratify a local community of young female consumers by pro- grammatically encoding their cultural products in a language of solidarity with their audience. (shrink)
The cohesion of the white middle class youth movement of the 1960s was based upon a shared subculture of dissidence. So long as this subculture was evolving in the direction of a more intense, more widespread revolt, with broader aims, each successive cultural phase had been spearheaded by an indicative minority which acted out the most profound impulse of revolt within the youth culture as a whole and provided a style to be emulated by those less fully committed. (...) Smaller vanguard nuclei, basically primary groups, crystallized the idealized collective self-image of the indicative minorities into mythical models.As dissidence subsided and as the vision which imparted meaning to the revolt for movement participants faded away or became fragmented, it was inevitable, in our view, that the evolution of the youth culture-toward accommodation should have been spearheaded by a new indicative minority-the members of the post-movement groups. These people were drawn to organizations which systematically combatted the anarchic anti-authorianism of the 1960s and combined cultural vestiges of the 1960s (such as rock music, communal living, or the rhetoric of love, peace, Experience, or Revolution) with prescriptions which reversed those of the 1960s culture, e.g., obedience to superiors, short hair, or sexual abstinence. They thus assaulted the content of the movement subculture in part by appropriating some of the forms and rhetoric. They spearheaded the trend toward accommodation with conventional society in the guise of a nominal rebellion and fixed the locus of true liberation either exclusively in the individual soul or in a revolution to be brought about by the inevitable workings of history rather than by people living their lives authentically.The leadership strata of the post-movement groups are usually primary groups or networks of primary groups gathered around the person of the leader. These groups are the equivalents of the vanguard nuclei of the previous decade. Their primary group character is frequently obscured by titles and organizational charts. Some examples: Leaders of the Children of God (now in the process of dissolution) were drawn from those who accompanied the founder on a bus caravan from Huntington Beach, California, to Louisiana and Texas after he prophesied the imminent destruction of California by an earthquake in 1968. The executive stratum of the Divine Light Mission is largely comprised of individuals who met Guru Maharaj Ji while seeking Truth in India during 1969–71 or who received Knowledge during the Guru's First World Peace Tour in 1971, and in either case induced their friends to receive Knowledge also. Swami Muktananda's Shree Gurudev Ashram displays a similar pattern at an earlier stage of development. The core group of the National Caucus of Labor Committees were closely associated at Columbia University and in the Progressive Labor Party before they became disciples of the founder around the time of the Columbia Strike in 1968. The Revolutionary Union (whose doctrine is “Marxism-Leninism-Mao Tse-tung Thought” in opposition to Trotskyism and revisionism-and which reveres Stalin) retains its original 1969 leadership when it was known as the Bay Area Revolutionary Union, an SDS sub-faction. The October League, which carries an arcane doctrinal war with the Revolutionary Union, originated as an SDS splinter group called Revolutionary Youth Movement II, and still retains its original leadership.The Youth movement of the 1960s lasted for a full decade, culminating in wide scale confrontation of dominant society at the psychic, social, and cultural levels, with all aspects of dominant society being defined as negative, oppressive, stultifying, and inimical. Revolt occurred in alternating processes of political confrontation and cultural intensification. The height of the revolt was in 1968 with the advent of the freak-radical (alienated from straight society both culturally and politically) committed to bringing down the structure of dominant society “by any means necessary.”As is the way with social movements, the decline occurred at a much more rapid pace than the intensification. By 1971, almost all forms of youth dissidence had disappeared or had been encapsulated, and various forms of accommodation were appearing on the scene. Post-movement groups were on the rise and dominated the youth culture scene, reaching their apex during the summer of 1973. Since then, they have also declined as youth returned to an uneasy state of “normality:” the rise of “grim vocationalism” and reversion to 1950s privatism. With the demise of the post-movement groups, even fragments of the vision have all but disappeared. Whereas during the previous decade, a time of seemingly boundless prosperity, accumulative personal goals receded in significance, the mid-1970s economic slump brings with it a rescuscitation of “getting ahead,” though seemingly without the conviction among youth in the absolute validity of doing so. (shrink)
This article contends that the influence of Australian rock musician Lobby Loyde has been overlooked by Australia’s popular music scholarship. The research examines Loyde’s significance and influence through the neglected sphere of his work (1966–1980) with The Coloured Balls, The Purple Hearts, The Wild Cherries, The Aztecs, Southern Electric, Sudden Electric and Rose Tattoo, and his role as producer in the late-1970s until his death. First, it explores how he has been discussed by his musical peers and respected Australian rock (...) historians. Second, it details Loyde’s musical origins and work with early bands during the period in which he was first referred to as Australia’s first guitar hero. Third, it investigates the career and influence of The Coloured Balls, their relationship with the 1970s youth subculture known as the ‘sharpies’, and the media-fuelled moral panic which surrounded both the band and the sharpies. Fourth, it assesses Loyde’s work as a producer in the 1980s, and late-in-life recognition by the Australian music industry. In doing so, the article shows the nature and importance of Loyde’s contribution to Australia’s popular music industry and discusses why he is only known to a strong but small fraction of the Australian public. (shrink)
continent. 1.2 (2011): 102-116. All experience open to the future is prepared or prepares itself to welcome the monstrous arrivant, to welcome it, that is, to accord hospitality to that which is absolutely foreign or strange [….] All of history has shown that each time an event has been produced, for example in philosophy or in poetry, it took the form of the unacceptable, or even of the intolerable, or the incomprehensible, that is, of a certain monstrosity. Jacques Derrida “Passages—from (...) Traumatism to Promise” (387). Post-Continental Queer Theory In an interview with Paul Ennis in Post-Continental Voices , Adrian Ivakhiv (2011) is asked about his opinion concerning the future of post-continental philosophy and he responds that: In an increasingly global context, I’m not sure if either ‘continental philosophy’ or “analytical philosophy” have much of a future except as carriers of certain legacies; they’re carry-overs from a time when philosophy seemed exclusive to the North Atlantic world. In a globally mediated, technologically shaped world of shifting and intersecting biocultural contexts, philosophy will have to be more hybrid, viral, and shapeshifting if it’s to remain efficacious as a motivating and inspirational force for cosmopolitical world-making—which, to my mind, is what lies ahead of us (97). Ivakhiv goes on to prescribe what such a post-continental philosophy would need to be: “post-analytical, post-feminist, post-Marxist, post-postcolonial, post-constructivist” (97) and so on. He does not explicitly mention queer theory here but we might ask, and this essay sets out to ask, what queer theory might look like if we were to consider it as a hybrid, viral, shapeshifting, post-continental philosophy with cosmopolitical world-making aspirations. Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner’s essay “What does Queer Theory Teach us about X?” a guest column written for the PMLA in 1995 was already talking about queer theory in ways which we might now recognize as resonating with the term “post-continental.” The first thing we might notice about their essay is a refusal to succumb to the need to pin things down, to say what exactly queer theory is and does and to be entirely clear about what precisely it is that queer theorists do. Berlant and Warner are equally reluctant to accord a specific time to queer. For them, queer is radically anticipatory; it holds out a promise, a utopian aspiration, and occupies a time out-of-joint. Perhaps the appeal and the lasting power of queer theory then (and now) is that it is non-delimitable as a field and non-locatable in terms of a chrononormative temporal schema. Part of, perhaps all of, the attraction of queer theory is its very undefinability, its provisionality, its openness, and its not-yet-here-ness. Queer occupies a strange temporality; it is always, like Derrida’s monstrous arrivant , to-come, whether from the past or from the future. And it has a ghostly formlessness too. Berlant and Warner write that, in their view, “it is not useful to consider queer theory a thing, especially one dignified by capital letters. We wonder whether queer commentary might not more accurately describe the things linked by the rubric, most of which are not theory” (343). It cannot, they insist, “be assimilated to a single discourse, let alone a propositional program” (343). I share their desire “not to define, purify, puncture, sanitize, or otherwise entail [pin a tail on to] the emerging queer commentary” or to fix a “seal of approval or disapproval” (344) on anyone’s claims to queerness as I begin to think about the many and various afterlives of queer theory, if there is such a thing. Furthermore, I agree with them that we ought to prevent the reduction of queer theory to a speciality or a metatheory and that we ought to fight vigorously to “frustrate the already audible assertions that queer theory has only academic—which is to say, dead—politics” (344). And, as we shall see shortly, there is a certain discourse which propagates the idea that queer theory (and not just its politics) is always already dead, buried, over, finished. For me, much of queer thinking’s allure is its openness, its promissory nature, and that much of what goes under its name has been “radically anticipatory, trying to bring a [queer] world into being” (344). Because of this very provisionality, and an attendant welcomeness to its own revision, any attempt to “summarize it now will be violently partial” (343). But we might see some value in the violently partial accounts, the short-lived promiscuous encounters, cruising impersonal intimacies, I will be trying to stage here in this article as I ruminate upon the post-continental afterlives of queer theory. If, for Berlant and Warner, “Queer Theory is not the theory of anything in particular, and has no precise bibliographic shape” (344) then I would like to suggest—with a willful disingenuousness since after all Queer Theory [dignified by capitals] does have a working bibliographical and anthologizable shape which one can easily constitute—that queer theory is not solely the theory of nothing in particular. We might, a little hyperbolically to be sure, say that queer theory is (and always has been) the theory of everything . However, if we turn queer theory into a capital-t Theory (as we are often wont to do [and I cannot exclude myself from this urge]) we risk forgetting the differences between the various figures associated with it and the variegated contexts in which they work (as we shall soon see). As Berlant and Warner caution, “Queer commentary takes on varied shapes, risks, ambitions, and ambivalences in various contexts” (344) and if we try to pin the tail on the donkey by imagining a context (theory) in which queer has “a stable referential content and pragmatic force” (344) then we are in danger of forgetting the “multiple localities” (345) of queer theory and practice. No one corpus of work (Judith Butler’s for example) or no one particular project should be made to stand in for the whole movement, or what we might more provisionally—and more openly, perhaps a possible alternative to Berlant and Warner’s queer commentary—call the “culture” of queer theory (small-q, small-t). If queer thinking were simply reduced to being the province of one particular thinker (say, Judith Butler or Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick) then its multiple localities would be worryingly narrowed and its localities would become merely parochial like “little ornaments appliquéd over real politics or real intellectual work. They [would] carry the odor of the luxuriant” (Berlant and Warner, 345). If the works of Butler or Sedgwick, were made into a metonym for queer theory or queer culture (or world-building) itself, and if they are held to be exemplary cases (either for good or for bad) then what we lose is the original edgy impetus behind queer theory in the first place. We lose, as Berlant and Warner state, that “wrenching sense of re-contextualization it gave” (345). And then we would really leave queer theory open to charges of political uselessness and glaciation, “the infection of general culture by narrow interest” (349). The Many Deaths of Queer Theory Were we to accept recent commentators, Queer Theory, is: over, passé, moribund, stagnant; or, at worst, dead, its time and its power to wrench frames having come and gone. Almost since it began we have been hearing about the death(s) of Queer Theory. Stephen Barber and David Clark wrote in 2002 that, “it is not especially surprising to hear that the survival of queer theory has been questioned or its possible ‘death’ bruited, however questioningly”(4). However questioning this may have been, a year later Judith Halberstam wrote, “some say that queer theory is no longer in vogue; others characterize it as fatigued or exhausted of energy and lacking in keen debates; still others wax nostalgic for an earlier moment.” One year later Heather Love reports that some suspect that “queer theory is going downhill.” Andrew Parker and Janet Halley, who edited a special issue of South Atlantic Quarterly in 2007 entitled “After Sex: On Writing Since Queer Theory,” invited their contributors to share some “after” thoughts on what it might mean to be “after queer theory” since they had, “been hearing from some quarters that queer theory, if not already passé, was rapidly approaching its expiration date.” Yet, despite the rumors of extinction, Queer Theory continues to tenaciously hold on to life, to affirm the promise of the future, even despite the dominant influence of Lee Edelman’s book No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive which encourages us to fuck the future and its coercive politics which are, he tells us, embodied in the fascist face of the Child. With each new book, conference, seminar series, each new masters program, we hear (yet again) that Queer Theory is over. Some argue that the unstoppable train of queer theory came to a halt in the late nineties having been swallowed up by its own fashionability. It had become, contrary to its own anti-assimilationist rhetoric, fashionable, very much included, rather than being the outlaw, it wanted to be. But the books and articles still continue to appear, the conferences continue to be held. And, if it were true that Queer Theory has been assimilated completely, become sedimented, completely domesticated (or at least capable of being domesticated) then it really would be over. Nobody would be reading any more for we would already know what was to come.3 In a fascinating conclusion to her article “Busy Dying” Valerie Rohy (2011) suggests that we need not necessarily, “resist the death of queer theory, or not in the way one might think.” She explains: While it is ironic that queer theory should also be enlivened by prophecies of its death [...] there is no reason why that conversation should not continue. If we choose to accept the humanizing trope that gives life to queer theory, it must therefore be dying, like all of us: after all, the condition of life is its ending. And if so, the question becomes how long and how richly queer theory can live that dying, busy with the work of its time (219). Of course, to speak of afterlives, as I do here, is to suggest that queer theory has already died and has come back as a ghost or ghosts. Certainly, this gestures some way towards the hauntological survival of queer theory and its weird temporalities. But, if it is already-dead (and queer theory does tend to get anthropomorphized in these accounts of its demise) then its ghost comes from the future as well as from the past. But, Queer Theory, stubbornly vital as specter, revenant, ghost, took a strange twist in the late nineties and early noughties (or whatever we might awkwardly name our present queer age). Suddenly, queer theorists were interested in ethico-politics, in world politics, in events outside of the texts they were so busy subverting. And it was this political turn which led David Ruffolo to call for a renaming of queer thinking as post-queer politics. In Ruffolo’s (2009) book we catch a glimpse of what queer as a post-continental theory might look like and it is useful to read Post-Queer Politics alongside John Mullarkey’s (2006) Post-Continental Philosophy: An Outline . At the beginning of his book Mullarkey admits that he is writing about something, the philosophical event of post-continental thought, which does not yet have a shape, has not yet come into existence: This book may have been written too early. It is not about something, or some idea, that has actually occurred as yet, an objective event. It is about something that is unfolding, an event in the making. The ‘Post-‘ in ‘Post-Continental’ is not an accurate description of what is, but a prescription for what could be” (1). Similarly, the “post-” in David Ruffolo’s (2009) book operates not as a description of something which has already happened in response to the “peaking” of queer theory (1), but rather describes (or prescribes) what could be, if queer theory were to undergo significant renewal. Ruffolo’s primary concern is to immanentize queer theory which, for him, remains rooted in subjectivity, language, representations, discourses, identities, and so on. Ruffolo rejects the queer theoretical insistence on transcendence which he finds primarily in the work of Foucault and Butler—where acute attention is placed on representations, significations, and identifications—and he aims to kindle a neomaterialist (in the spirit of Elizabeth Grosz’s work) post-queer thinking which is open rather than closed to the world. In my (2009) preface “TwO (Theory without Organs)” to Post-Queer Politics I gestured toward the idea that Ruffolo is reanimating queer theory, plateauing it in ways that can be diagrammed: he puts queer theory on the line and he maps the plane of consistency of queer theory as a kind of free-floating space that is formless, without subject, without development, without centre or structure, without beginning or end.4 Mullarkey’s wager is that post-continental thought (which he associates with the philosophies of Deleuze, Laruelle, Badiou and Henry) embraces “absolute immanence over transcendence” (1). Each of these philosophers insist, Mullarkey tells us, upon, “a return to the category of immanence if philosophy is to have any future at all” (2). In “rejecting both the phenomenological tradition of transcendence (of consciousness, the Ego, Being, or Alterity), as well as the post-structuralist valorization of language” (2) these four French philosophers take continental philosophy “in a new direction that engages with naturalism with a refreshingly critical and non-reductive approach to the sciences of life, set theory, embodiment and knowledge. Taken together, these strategies amount to a rekindled faith in the possibility of philosophy as a worldly and materialist thinking” (2). Although Deleuze is the central figure in both Mullarkey’s and Ruffolo’s texts, it is perhaps Derrida (and his notion of the à-venir , the to-come) which springs to mind when we try to think about the attempt to make immanence supervene on transcendence in queer studies. The queer theory to-come (which Ruffolo refers to as post-queer dialogical becomings) is impossible to discern, to outline, to give precise shape too. If queer theory has reached an abyss (the heteronormativity/queer dyad Ruffolo problematizes) then re-mapping the co-ordinates of the field depends on an aporetic impossibility, a crossing of the uncrossable, a passing through the impassable. For Mullarkey, Derrida’s later thinking was marked by an inability to stay still and a shift from the undermining of the “possibility of experience” to “the experience of impossibility” (9) in the later writings on the aporetics of ethical, religious and political experience. The queer theory to-come, we might wager, then, is an experience of aporetic impossibility and Mullarkey gives us a clue as to how Derrida’s writing on/about aporias might be useful for thinking about the regime of philosophical immanence: In his own work entitled Aporias, Derrida tells us that the term’s philosophical use comes to us from Aristotle’s Physics IV and concerns the problematics of time. But it also concerns the issue of regress, Aristotle taking the view in the Categories that any relation (like time) must have distinct relata lest there be infinite regress. The relata need to be distinct if their relation is to be defined. And here is where we can begin to see a way out of our entanglement in immanence (9) Mullarkey contends that, “the regress, aporia, or ‘vertigo’ of immanence” can never be undone, “indeed, it can never even be said, strictly speaking” (9). Rather, we show it by unwriting it. He turns to Deleuze for a theory of abstraction that, “would provide the key to how a discourse of immanence might be possible—namely the theory of the diagram or philosophical drawing” (9). He explains that the diagram operates metaphilosophically in that it is a moving outline which takes both, “a transcendent view (representing immanence) while also remaining immanent: it does this by diagrammatising itself—it reiterates itself as a drawing that is perpetually re-drawn, and so materializes its own aporia”(9). Ruffolo’s post-queer politics is perhaps only capturable spatially or rather diagrammatically and not chronologically (it does not mean after queer or leaving queer behind, the post-queer remains, after all, forever tethered to the queer) or genealogically. Post-queer does not mean after queer or leaving queer behind, the post-queer remains, after all, forever tethered to the queer genealogically. Mullarkey sums up his project in ways which are strikingly similar to Ruffolo’s central concerns about the stagnation or death of queer theory, “the news this nascent event brings is effectively the following: not only was the report of Continental philosophy’s death at the hand of self-inflicted aporia, obscurantism and anti-scientism an exaggeration, but a recent change has taken place that will allow it to regenerate and renew itself with unexpected consequences” (11). The Many Afterlives of Queer Theory The news of queer theory’s death (or many deaths) at the hands of “self-inflicted aporia” also came too soon, was a gross exaggeration. And, echoing Mullarkey, I would argue that recent changes to the shape of the field promise its regeneration and renewal with many unexpected (and indeed unforeseeable consequences). So, in the remainder of this article I would like to speculate about some of Queer Theory’s afterlives by taking a look at some recent texts (all from the past two years and each committed to re-imagined queer futurities) which take the field in new directions and open up new spaces of enquiry, new worlds: José Esteban Muñoz’s Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity (2009) on critical idealism, aesthetics and a Blochian educated hope, Sara Ahmed’s The Promise of Happiness (2010) on affect, Tim Dean’s Unlimited Intimacy: Reflections on the Subculture of Barebacking (2010) on barebacking, HIV and intimacies, Kathryn Bond Stockton’s The Queer Child; Or Growing Sideways in the Twentieth Century (2009) on queer childhood, and finally, Lynne Huffer’s Mad for Foucault: Rethinking the Foundations of Queer Theory (2010) which is a landmark text for queer studies because it shifts the emphasis away from Foucault’s three-volume History of Sexuality to his Madness and Civilization . My “violently partial” readings of these five important texts and the immemorial currents sweeping Queer Theory towards new headings, new futures, suggests not only that there is life after death for Queer Theory, a future for queer thinking, but that, Queer Theory is the future, a theory of the future, one which still has much to teach us about the urgent cultural and political questions of today. Queer theory and/as the Future From its very “beginnings” Queer Theory has, like its pervert twin, deconstruction, been turned toward the future, a theory permanently open to its own recitation, re-signification and revision. It has always been a hopeful and hope-full theory. We see this in its earliest incarnations as the AIDS activism of ACT UP and Queer Nation, both of which are privileged by utopian political thought that promises an unmasterable future, and the “foundational” theorizations of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick and Judith Butler (among many others), queer theory has always already been of, for, and promised, given over to, the future, to futurality as such. It has curved, “endlessly toward the realization that its realization remains impossible,” as Lee Edelman wrote in 1995 (346), the same year as Berlant and Warner’s guest column in PMLA . So, in the early to mid 1990s Edelman himself was able to celebrate the utopic negativity, and asymptotic, incalculable futurity of queer thinking as a site of permanent becoming. But what his No Future has almost single-handedly instantiated is a turn away from the future, or what he more recently has called the “Futurch” (2006, 821) as it is embodied in the saccharine-laden figure of the Child. In the wake of Edelman’s book there has been an almost universal rejection of, a resounding “fuck you,” to the future and what has come to be called the ‘anti-social thesis’ now dominates the post-political, post-futural, anti-or post-relational landscape of queer studies. On the one side, the side of anti-utopianism and hopelessness you have figures like Edelman, Jonathan Goldberg and Madhavi Menon, and (much more problematically and equivocally) Judith Halberstam, for whom hope is imbued with and unable to be dislodged from a heteronormative logic. Theirs is a project calculated to give up on hope and by extension to refuse both the political and the futural. In a sense then the anti-social theorists are on the side of death, or of a logic which loudly proclaims and embraces the traumatized death drivenness of both queer theory and politics, raising a specter which has haunted it from the very start. On the other side, on the side of affirmation, utopianism and socio-political hope, very much on the side of life, we have figures such as Tim Dean, Michael Snediker, Sara Ahmed, and José Esteban Muñoz (a thinker such as Heather Love falls somewhere in the middle but I don’t think an optimistic queer theory can afford to dwell for very long on loss, melancholia, trauma at the expense of feeling forward as her work does). These theorists, a little bit in love with queer theory as lure, return us to the affirmative, revolutionary potential of queer studies, and seek to re-imagine a hopeful, forward-reaching, world-making queer theory that matters as the future, as the telepoietic queer event, as the always already not-yet of the democracy to-come and the justice to-come. We might even say, affirming the far-from-dead politics of queer theory, that queer theory is radical democracy, that queer theory is justice, is all about futurity and hope. And it is worth remembering here that for Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, whose death in April 2009 occasioned a new round of assertions that the work of queer theory which she inspired was over and done with, queerness is “inextinguishable” (1993, xii). And, to quote Beth Freeman (2010), “as much as sexual dissidents have suffered, lived as objects of contempt or oblivion, endured physical and emotional punishment, we have also risked experimentation with our bodies and those of others, with affiliation, and with new practices of hoping, demanding, and otherwise making claims on the future”(xxi). Revolt We Said Those who take up the anti-social argument (a position usually incorrectly attributed to Leo Bersani’s Homos ) refuse to make claims on the future and so refuse queer theory as future dawning promise. To do so is to betray a certain spirit of Derridean deconstruction which has always animated queer thought. To take this anti-social argument is to give up on a Derridean understanding of the event as prospective and to remain in thrall to an onto-chrono-temporality. I would quite seriously suggest that we need to avoid this wrong turn by mobilizing a Derridean understanding of historicity, temporality (and by extension spatiality), relationality and the event. The latter being understood as that which ruptures onto-chrono-phenomenological temporality and is faithful to, or welcomes, that which arrives but which cannot be known or grasped in advance. This theoretical gesture, a reparative one, is in the service of what I have called elsewhere (2011, 53-69) queer theory as a weak force, queer theory as revolt. Julia Kristeva in Revolt, She Said understands the event as revolutionary, emphasizing there the etymological roots—which overlap with queer’s own etymological ones—of the word revolt, meaning “return, renewing, returning, discovering, uncovering, and renovating”( 2002, 85). This renovation is possible because at the moment of revolution, according to Kristeva, “I revolt, therefore we are still to come’ (42, my emphasis). Kristeva considers thinking as, “a revelation, an exploration, an opening, a place of freedom” (114). Similarly, José Esteban Muñoz, in his Cruising Utopia , sees queerness as, “a structuring and educated mode of desiring that allows us to see and feel beyond the quagmire of the present” (2009, 1). For Muñoz, “Queerness is also a performative because it is not simply a being but a doing for and toward the future” (1). Following Muñoz, queerness occupies the space of the not-yet, is always promissory, horizonal. He begins Cruising Utopia by stating: Queerness is not yet here. Queerness is an ideality. Put another way, we are not yet queer. We may never touch queerness, but we can feel it as the warm illumination of a horizon imbued with potentiality. We have never been queer, yet queerness exists for us as an ideality that can be distilled from the past and used to imagine a future. The future is queerness’s domain (1). I am not suggesting that it is easy to unmoor ourselves from linear temporalities, from what Elizabeth Freeman in her important recent book on erotohistoriographies calls “chrononormativities,” but I would like to draw attention to the way in which this capitulation in the end refuses and forecloses the promise of the future. In the remainder of this paper I would like to take a glimpse at some forward-glancing texts (or particular moments in those texts which we might encounter closely, even over-closely)12 which can be shored up against the so-called ruin(s) or death(s) or queer theory. Child’s Delay Firstly, let us take a sideways look at the child, from a parallax angle which Edelman’s No Future (2004), with its rejection of the child and of the possibility for queer children or queer childhood to even exist, explicitly disallows. Kathryn Bond Stockton’s The Queer Child; or Growing Sideways in the Twentieth Century (2009) asserts that, “if you scratch a child, you will find a queer” (1). In her readings of fiction and films from the twentieth century she returns the shadowy, ghostly, penumbral figure of the queer child to a central place. She will, she boldly claims, show throughout, “how every child is queer” (3). What this might suggest to us is that queer children stubbornly refuse to grow up, to follow arborescent, vertical, even Oedipalized models of development.13 Rather they make lateral, rhizomatic, sideways moves. The child is post-queer, then, in Ruffolo’s sense. It is important to note that these sweeping lateral shifts are also as such a rejection of the coercive politics of “reproductive futurism” (Edelman, 2004). But, having said that, the temporality Stockton’s queer children occupy is the time of Derrida’s différance, a time of delay. Their, “supposed gradual growth, their suggested slow unfolding, which, unhelpfully, has been relentlessly figured as vertical movement upward (hence ‘growing up’) toward full stature, marriage, work, reproduction and the loss of childishness” (Stockton, 4). The temporality of delay is, Stockton admits, a tricky one. Like the speeds of Derridean différance, the child’s delay “spreads [...] sideways and backwards,” rather than simply accelerating and thrusting “toward height and forward time” (4). As a queer strategy, maneuvering sideways has the virtue of mobilizing the frame-wrenching unruliness of Berlant and Warner’s queer thinking, but also the power to bend the hetero-chrono-normative frames of temporality and History we are used to working with. These complicated asynchronicities, these luminescent moments of queer refusals to grow up, carve open new futures for queer childhood. If queer childhood—and here queer childhood becomes synecdochal for the childlike wonder of queer theory itself—is only ever recognizable after its death, retroactively, then this delaying or stalling of the forward-propulsion of growing up, allows the queer child, or simply queerness tout court, to live on, inextinguishably. Utopia’s Propulsions In his manifesto-like Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity , José Esteban Muñoz enacts another sideways re-temporalizing move and makes a compelling argument for the anti-anti-relational thesis. We must, he states, “vacate the here and now for a then and there,” (185) leaving behind the contested present and its quagmire, for a re-imagined futurity. If Edelman emphasizes the lonely figure of the sinthomosexual who refuses relationality, then Muñoz wishes for, wants a, “collective temporal distortion.” This is a Kristevan revolt, “Individual transports are insufficient. We need to engage in a collective temporal distortion. We need to step out of the rigid conceptualization that is a straight present” (185). In a way Stockton’s queer child occupies Muñoz’s space (although the future is both a spatial and a temporal destination) of the “not yet here.” Rather than refusing the future’s pull in the way that Edelman rejects the tow of the à-venir (the to-come), Muñoz reminds us that, “what we need to know is that queerness is not yet here but it approaches like a crashing wave of potentiality. And we must give in to its propulsion, its status as a destination” (185), or we might say its status as a horizonless-horizon. In a rather compelling conclusion to his book Muñoz imagines this capitulation to the inexorable propulsive tug of the future-as-promise in terms of the ecstatic: “we must take ecstasy.” This has a whole range of possible registers from the pharmaceutical to the carnal but I want to place it alongside (or sideways with) Lynne Huffer’s more ecstatic moments in Mad for Foucault (2010), in which she is mad about her Foucault. She engages in moments of rapturous cross-temporal vibration with him in terms redolent of Muñoz’s own ekstasis (a Heideggerian standing outside of oneself which ruptures, tears up the linearities of straight time). Muñoz’s injunction, or request, for us to take ecstasy with him, to encounter a queer temporality thus, becomes a request to stand out of time together, to resist the stultifying temporality and time that is not ours, that is saturated with violence both visceral and emotional, a time that is not queerness. Queerness’s time is the time of ecstasy. Ecstasy is queerness’s way (187). It is in these ecstatic moments that we arrive (or move inexorably toward) “collective potentiality” (189). These ecstatic moments often take place in encounters with certain objects, objects like Warhol’s coke bottle which harbor potentiality and are illuminated by “the affective contours of hope itself” (7). Queer Ekstasis Those objects, which are illuminated by future- or forward-dawning-promise, can also be texts themselves. These are texts which take on qualities of the sentient as they vibrate with us across time and space. Lynne Huffer’s Mad for Foucault: Rethinking the Foundations of Queer Theory dramatizes a feverish moment which she shares in the archive with Foucault, where she takes ecstasy with him. Her argument throughout this field redefining book is that we cannot properly understand Foucault’s work on sexuality until we learn to (re)read The History of Madness . This project of “re-queering Foucault” (24) actually turns on a rejection of the now-sanctified versions of his ideas which dominate queer theory.14 Huffer bravely suggests that our understanding of Foucault occupies the time of ecstatic queerness: if we have yet to read (or understood) his work properly, then another Foucault, a futural Foucault is always potentially dawning. She glimpses this wave of potentiality for unsettling the object-event that Foucault has become in the Normandy archive where Foucault’s unpublished texts are held. While perusing a 400-page interview between Roger Pol Droit and Foucault, Huffer chances upon a moment of suppressed self-disclosure. Foucault had refused to publish this long interview text, embarrassed by how it forced him to resort to biographical answers, to a moi that his work—and the queer theory it has inspired— so assiduously moved to decenter. Foucault tells Droit that madness has always interested him, that “for twenty years now I’ve been worrying about my little mad ones, my little excluded ones, my little abnormals” (Huffer, 23). At this point, Droit presses him to explain the motivation for writing The History of Madness in the first place and he responds, in my personal life, from the moment of my sexual awakening, I felt excluded, not so much rejected, but belonging to society’s shadow. It’s all the more a problem when you discover it for yourself. All of this was very quickly transformed into a kind of psychiatric threat: if you’re not like everyone else, it’s because you’re abnormal, if you’re abnormal, it’s because you’re sick (Huffer, 23). Huffer admits that she is, “immediately thrilled,” to have, “discovered such a ‘confession,’” from Foucault (23). This is a moment where, for Foucault, “individual transports are not enough” (Muñoz, 185). Rather he engages in a “collective temporal distortion” (Muñoz, 185) in which he declares his solidarity with his “little mad ones, my little abnormals.” Huffer calls this moment a “ coup de foudre ” which sparks a “fever” in her and engenders, “a loyal kind of disloyalty to Foucault,” (24) who after all wanted to suppress this “confessional” text that she erotically vibrates toward, or even with. Perhaps, she says, “it can be received as an event of discovery that engenders what Deleuze called a resistant thinking, ‘a thought of resistance’ to the despotic readings that refuse to see Foucault’s queer madness” (24). Huffer’s queer theory takes it chances with that which has been repressed but in so doing goes where Muñoz tells us queer theory needs to go: into the queer time of ecstasy and archive fever. Huffer’s encounter with Foucault, her queer “touch” which crosses temporal lines, reveals the inherent strangeness which inhabits the chrono-normative rhythms of time. And her seeming “disloyalty,” her overcloseness discloses what Freeman says is the, “messiest thing about being queer,” that is, “the actual meeting of bodies with other bodies and with objects” (Freeman, xxi, my emphasis). The Promise of Affect Huffer’s ecstatic moment, her stepping outside of herself in a moment of happy stance, a chancy happenstance, should remind us that we know, as Muñoz, puts it, “time through the field of the affective, and affect is tightly bound to temporality” (Muñoz,187). Sara Ahmed’s The Promise of Happiness (2010) turns its attention to an affect which has been downplayed in queer studies which has up until recently preferred to wallow in bad feelings such as shame (by far the most dominant affect in queer cultural studies), hate, fear, anger, disgust and so on. Negative affect, melancholy and trauma, as Michael Snediker points out in his gorgeous dance of a book Queer Optimism , have preoccupied queer theorizing at the expense of or to the detriment of positive affect, happiness, optimism, hope, utopianism. In his review of Ahmed’s book Snediker avers that, “arguments for or against happiness arise most provocatively in the field of queer theory,” which suggests to him that, “queer persons bear an acutely salient relation to happiness as that from which they’ve been excluded, but furthermore, that they bear an exemplary relation to a happiness always requiring sacrifice and compromise, a shady bittersweetness from which no persons are exempt” (2009, np). Most queer theory has found itself cleaving to pernicious versions of happiness over and against its capacity for fungibility (there are many forms of happiness) and its constitutive (or at the very least etymological) potentiality for surprise. Happiness, then, occupies the strange temporality of Stockton’s child and his or her delay (and of Muñoz’s then-and-there, a not-yet-here). Snediker reminds us that Ahmed imagines an affective relation (which can be both happy or unhappy; there is, after all, no pure form of either happiness or unhappiness which tend, as Snediker puts it, rather to “equivocate around each other’s edges”) to an “experienced past as structurally analogous to a futural affect which we can speculate about but haven’t yet encountered”: “nostalgic and promissory forms of happiness belong under the same horizon, insofar as they imagine happiness as being somewhere other than where we are in the present” (Ahmed, 160-161). The anti-social theorists argue that, if one is to be queer, happiness is ontologically risky and therefore should be refused, given up. However, Ahmed much more promisingly (and promissorily) mines those times and spaces where we can in fact find forms of happiness beyond those we presently “trust and mistrust” (Snediker, 2009). In this brighter, more expansive world, Ahmed promises a differently-theorized happiness, which we might allow to migrate across other affects—both positive and negative. As Snediker concludes, Ahmed gratifyingly allows that, by swerving away from happiness’s compulsions and coercions and being drawn into near-proximity, “we might wish to be happy, without feeling theoretically unhappy in the wishing.” Unlimited Promiscuity Muñoz’s Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity imagines what we “can possibly see, let alone know, here, and now, of future social relations, how we can dream and enact new and better pleasures, other ways of being in the world, and ultimately new worlds” (Muñoz ,1). The then and there of his subtitle insists on the now-cental question of how to bring about utopian futures from within a negating and seemingly hopeless present. How to introduce or bring exuberant futures (what Michael Warner would call “queer planets” maybe) into being. It may seem perverse to look for and to find ballast for what we can know of future social relations that would induce ebullient queer futurities in Tim Dean’s Unlimited Intimacy: Reflections on the Subculture of Barebacking (2010), the opening chapter of which bears the confessional epigraph, “I like to bareback—to fuck without condoms.” But for Dean barebacking “concerns an experience of unfettered intimacy, of overcoming the boundaries between persons, that is far from exclusive to this subculture or, indeed, to queer sexuality” (2). What this might mean, of course, is that barebacking occupies the queer time and space of the not-yet-here. It also promises a shattering of the identitarian structures which presently underpin our theories of sexuality and potentializes the thinking of new relational modes or forms-of-life (an important point to make about a book which has the virtue of bringing HIV, AIDS, and death back into focus without falling under the sway of the death driven queer post-politics).15 If Foucault needs to be re-queered, unleashing his queer unreason or madness, then Dean suggests that queer theory itself needs to be re-queered. Barebacking (which he refuses to endorse or condemn) allows him “to defer judgement about it in order to open a space in which real thinking can occur” (Dean, 3). If for Stockton growing sideways is a queer strategy in practice, and for Muñoz taking ecstasy is a queer strategy in motion, then for Dean promiscuity occupies that re-opened space where real thinking and patient forms of attention can take place. In lieu of the politics of identification he argues for an impersonal ethics in which one cares about others (strangers in the Levinasian sense), “even when one cannot see anything of oneself in them.” So, in “contradistinction to the politics of identification, we have the ethics of alterity” (Dean, 25). This post-continental approach which moves beyond the subject in favour of what Elizabeth Grosz (2007) calls a, “process of opening oneself up to the otherness that is the world itself […] that makes us unrecognisable,” might also be diagrammed using Lacan’s graphs of sexuation as does Levi Bryant in his work on the democracy of objects and what he has termed Object Oriented Ontology (OOO). Lacan plays a crucial role in both Dean’s Beyond Sexuality and Unlimited Intimacy as well as in Bryant’s onticology, his “flat ontology.” Bryant's theory of withdrawal is one which—in conversation with Timothy Morton (2011)—asserts an opposition to any “phallocentric totalization. This is what Bryant (2011) has recently called “phallosophy.” Instead of interpreting Lacan’s graphs in terms of sexuation, he understands them in terms of ontology. He explains that, “on both the masculine and the feminine side of the graph of sexuation, what we get are two different ways of handling the withdrawal at the heart of being. The left side of the graph refers to masculine sexuation, while the right side of the graph refers to feminine sexuation” (2010, np). And in Bryant’s post-phallosophical onticology, queer theory is to be found on the feminine (“not-all”) side of the graph. If David Ruffolo is determined to theorize queer desiring machines to counter an unproductive focus on lack then Bryant is equally attuned to the ways in which we ought to swerve away from Lacan’s phallic function (which of course refers to castration or lack). Bryant explains: rather than referring to a masculine and feminine side of the graph, we can instead refer to a side of the graph that refers to object-oriented ontologies (the feminine [and subsequently he has placed the queer here too]). Moreover, rather than treating phi as the phallic function, we should instead treat phi as withdrawal. [...W]hat we get in this schema are two fundamentally different ways of discoursing about being (2010). Bryant reformulates the schemas for masculinity and femininity in terms of philosophies of presence where, “all are submitted to withdrawal with one exception,” and object-oriented ontologies where, “not all are submitted to withdrawal. But there is no exception. There is none which is not submitted to withdrawal.” What Bryant is getting at here is that there is no master signifier outside the set of all objects and there is no top or bottom object anywhere to be found. He goes on to say that: if the graphs of sexuation are rewritten in terms of ontology and withdrawal we can see how we get radically different ontologies depending on whether or not we’re dealing with a metaphysics of presence or an object-oriented ontology. What the metaphysics of presence seeks and is always dependent upon is an exception or an entity that is not subject to withdrawal. In other words it seeks an entity that is fully present without any withdrawal whatsoever (2010). However, Object-Oriented Ontologies give us a completely different schematization because, as Bryant argues, there is “no exception to withdrawal.” He explains that, “it belongs to the being of all beings to withdraw without exception. Not only do beings withdraw from one another, but they also necessarily withdraw from themselves.” In his democratization of objects Bryant develops the thesis that objects have a dual nature, that they simultaneously withdraw and are, “self-othering in and through their manifestations.” If we look at Lacan’s graphs of sexuation we see a series of arrows traversing the two sides of the graph. As Bryant explains, on the masculine side we see an arrow pointing from the barred subject ($) to object a (a) and the “logic of metaphysics of presence” generates a situation in which “withdrawal is seen as a loss rather than as a constitutive dimension of being.” However, on the feminine side of the graph, which is on the side of object-oriented ontologies, there is a very different logic at work (something like Ruffolo’s creative lines of flight, a multiplicity of flows). The feminine article (~La~) is represented as a constitutively split subject. “On the one hand,” Bryant tells us, “we see an arrow pointing to the symbol for withdrawal ( phi ) indicating an orientation not to the presence or actuality of entities, but the manner in which an entity is always in excess of its manifestations. Likewise, we see yet another arrow directed at S(~A~) [...] the signifier for the barred Other.” Bryant rethinks that barred other in terms of what Timothy Morton has called in various places the strange stranger, a figure akin to Derrida’s monstrous arrivant, and also in terms of Graham Harman’s distinction between the real and sensuous properties of objects: “the arrow pointing to the barred object would thus indicate a desire oriented to welcoming the stranger or that which disrupts the familiar world of local manifestations. Where the logic of desire underlying metaphysics of presence is predicated on overcoming a loss and thereby attaining presence, the logic of desire [we might call it post-queer desire with Ruffolo] underlying object-oriented ontology would emphasize the excess of all substances over their local manifestations (there’s always more) and would welcome difference or those eruptions within stable regimes of local manifestation where the strange stranger surprises and indicates this excess” (“Phallosophy”). This is perhaps how we might diagram the virtuality of queer theory’s being constitutively open (to the world itself, and to go further, constitutively open to its future) and undomesticatable. If for Bryant, every “entity is a becoming that promises to become otherwise” then this is why entities are not only strange strangers to other entities but are also strange strangers to themselves” (2011). Morton has in his essay “Queer Ecology” extended his idea of the strange stranger to queer objects, guaranteeing a theory of withdrawn objects which recognizes the strange strangeness to everything.18 Any state an entity, say queer theory, happens to be in is merely provisional and there is always an excess or remainder beyond phallic identification and totalization. Bryant asks if his non-phallosophical thought deserves the title of a queer ontology, “in addition to a feminist ontology?” and the answer he provides is yes. His theory of withdrawal shares a great deal with Derrida’s abyssal aporetics, moving as it does beyond any epistemological limitation and “inscribing itself in the very being of the object itself.” If the object is withdrawn because, “it is never present either for-itself or for-another,” then we might begin to redraw queer theory as an entity which also deserves the name, “strange stranger” (2011). And we might now see Dean’s unlimited intimacy as a withdrawal from and reaching out towards strangers. In the concluding chapter, “Cruising as a Way of Life” (a clear nod to the later Foucault and the invention of new alliances, modes of life and unforeseen lines of force) to Unlimited Intimacy Dean writes that, “cruising entails a remarkably hospitable disposition towards strangers. Insofar as that is the case, the subculture of bareback promiscuity, far from being ethically irresponsible, may be ethically exemplary” (176). Barebacking, as he makes very clear throughout, is a practice which anyone can perform and may not have any particular attachment to or origin in gay sexualities. Cruising, which also is not a gay-specific practice, “exemplifies a distinctive ethic of openness to alterity and that—irrespective of our view of the morality of barebacking—we all, gay and non-gay, have something to learn from this relational ethic” (176). Barebacking disintricates us, then, from the identitarian (or in Dean’s terms “identificatory”) focus of lesbian and gay studies and opens up a space for queer sexualities and relationalities. Barebacking, we might say, is a queer strategy in practice. Methodologically—not that queer theory is a methodology, it is just what happens—this relates to a certain promiscuity, to “thinking promiscuously about promiscuity itself,” extending promiscuity beyond the sexual realm to the philosophico-theoretical (queer not as a sexual orientation but as a theoretical one). If for Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner in 1995 queer commentary was attuned to the opening up of a world then for Dean fifteen years later pleasurable yet risky openness to contact with others, with strangers and “cruising [...] involves not just hunting for sex but opening oneself to the world” (Dean, 210) and we might add, to a recalibrated futurity and erotico-relational ethic(s). Erotic impersonality, experimenting with viruses, for Dean, is an exploration of the ways in which we may, “relate to others and even become intimately engaged with them without needing to know or identify with them” (211). And this, I think, is what Bryant means by his own onticology of withdrawal which discloses the relation that is a non-relation to the strange stranger. Such is the (non)relational ethics, the posthuman ethics of difference, that onticology and [Morton’s] dark ecology strive to think, an ethics where the “non” must be placed in parentheses precisely because it is oddly both a relation and an absence of relation, precisely because it is proximity and the impossibility of any proximity (2011). Queer Theory, in moving outline (capable of being endlessly redrawn), we might say, could be diagrammed as a post-continental theory of precisely everything, a madly erotically impersonal mode of opening up to and meshing with the strangeness of others, of opening up to the incalculable strangeness of the future to-come, of opening up to aesthetic and political practices that do not yet exist but need to be envisioned as necessarily ec-static modes of stepping out of this enmired place and time to something cosmopolitically “fuller, vaster, more sensual and brighter” (Muñoz, 189). NOTES 1. The term “chrononormative” is one of the many brilliant formulations in Elizabeth Freeman’s Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories . Durham: Duke University Press. 2010. 2. Although I would argue that both have been read less and less well and indeed less and less as queer theory. 3. And I would argue that this is actually what has really been happening: does anyone actually read Judith Butler’s work now as queer theory or even of relevance to queer theory? 4. And this for me is exemplified by Masoud Ghaffarian-Shiraz’s cover image, “The Droplet.” 5. Patricia MacCormack’s resonant phrase “becomings to-come” seems to me to be a very useful one in this context, see her book, Cinesexuality . Farnham: Ashgate. 2008. 6. Elizabeth Freeman (2010) embraces the queerness of close reading encounters. She writes that the narratives she assembles in Time Binds (Durham: Duke University Press) are, “practices of knowing, physical as well as mental, erotic as well as loving 'grasps' of detail that do not accede to existing theories and lexicons but come into unpredictable contact with them: close readings that are, for most academic disciplines, simply too close for comfort” (xx-xxi). 7. We might note that the death of Theory itself has been repeatedly announced. A recent collection edited by Derek Attridge and Jane Elliott, entitled Theory After ‘Theory’ (New York: Routledge. 2011. Print.) argues that far from being dead that theory has adapted itself to the most pressing political and cultural problems of our time. 8. It is interesting that the subtitle of Huffer’s Mad for Foucault is Rethinking the Foundations of Queer Theory as if were not suspicious of all origins. 9. See Hardt, Michael and Antonio Negri, Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire. New York: Penguin. 2004. Print. 10. Editor's Note: We thus understand the BABEL Working Group's calling of all hands for their panel sessions at the 2012 Annual International Congress on Medieval Studies entitled "Fuck This: On Finally Letting Go" and "Fuck Me: On Never Letting Go" as esprit d'amour . 11. Incorrectly because Bersani’s work has everywhere been committed, like Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s, to recreating the world and letting it be. For Bersani everyone relates to everyone and everything else through formal correspondences and there is a marked shift from the anti-relational to ever-proliferating new relational modes and forms of being in his later work. Compare Homos (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995) and Forms of Being: Cinema, Aesthetics, Subjectivity (co-authored with Ulysse Dutoit, London: BFI, 2004). 12. For Freeman a commitment to “overcloseness” informs her sense of “queer” which, for her, “cannot signal a purely deconstructive move or position of pure negativity” (2010, xxi). 13. And childhood, as Eve Sedgwick so acutely taught us, need not necessarily adhere only to children. 14. No figure more than Foucault—except perhaps Freud—has exerted such a deep influence on queer thinking since its “inception.” 15. I mean post-politics here in terms of Edelman’s position of pure oppositionality to politics. 16. See in particular, “Queer Ecology” PMLA 125.2 (March 2010): 273-282 and The Ecological Thought (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010). 17. See also Morton’s “Here Comes Everything: The Promise of Object-Oriented Ontology.” Qui Parle . 19.2:163-90.  . (shrink)
The geography of contemporary bohemia is integral to Richard Florida’s thesis of the rise of a new creative class in the USA. The strong correlation between the presence of bohemians and innovative high-tech industries in a number of American cities stands in sharp contrast to the historical image of a bohemian subculture of artists and intellectuals, defined by their antagonistic relationship to bourgeois society. Rather than a sign of social marginality, bohemian life-styles have now become a marker of the (...) ‘new economy’, variously labeled the creative, the cultural or the aesthetic economy. In my paper I want to compare and contrast these two opposed images of bohemia – the 19th-century idea of bohemia as the libertarian other of liberal-bourgeois society and the new, highly topical economic geography of bohemia – with the following questions in mind: How and why does the 19th-century artistic critique of capitalism mutate into an expression of the new spirit of capitalism? Does this change from an antagonistic to an affirmative relationship signal the emergence of a new spirit of art that can be related to the new spirit of capitalism? (shrink)
Reams of empirical studies and a century or two of social theory have noticed that modernity produces increasingly shallow and instrumental relationships. Where bonds of mutuality, based on face-to-face connection, once survived, we now tend to exist in a depthless, dematerialized technoculture. This is the trajectory of industrial mass society: not transcending itself through technology, but instead becoming ever more fully realized. In this context, it is striking to note that the original usage of “virtual” was as the adjectival form (...) of “virtue.” Virtual reality (VR) is not only the creation of a narcissistic subculture; it represents a much wider…. (shrink)
This study explores the ethical ideol-ogies and ethical beliefs of African American consumers using the Forsyth ethical position questionnaire (EPQ) and the Muncy-Vitell consumer ethics questionnaire (MVQ). The two dimensions of the EPQ (i.e., idealism and relativism) were the independent constructs and the four dimensions of the MVQ (i.e., illegal, active, passive and no harm) were the dependent variables. In addition, this paper explores the consumer ethics of African Americans across four demographic factors (i.e., age, education, gender, and marital status). (...) A sample of 315 African American consumers was used to explore these relationships. Results confirmed that consumers who score high on the idealism scale are more likely to reject questionable consumer activities, but there was no relationship between relativism and consumers'' rejection of questionable activities. Older, more educated and married consumers rejected questionable activities more than younger, less educated and single consumers. Gender did not have any significant relationship to consumers'' ethical orientation. (shrink)
Stereotypical images of Appalachians abound in entertainment media. When CBS proposed transplanting a poor Appalachian family to California for a reality television show titled The Real Beverly Hillbillies, Appalachians and advocacy groups were outraged. This article explores ethical issues raised by stereotypical portrayals of Appalachians and potential harm from those stereotypes as well as the reality from which they emerged. Using the theories of Levinas, Kant, and Aristotle, we then examine the ethics of stereotyping Appalachians and other subcultures in entertainment (...) media. Finally, we propose a decision tree to aid producers of entertainment media in creating ethical portrayals of fictional characters and real people. (shrink)
This paper assesses the potential of organisational culture as a means for improving ethics in organisations. Organisational culture is recognised as one determinant of how people behave, more or less ethically, in organisations. It is also incresingly understood as an attribute that management can and should influence to improve organisational performance. When things go wrong in organisations, managers look to the culture as both the source of problems and the basis for solutions. Two models of organisational culture and ethical behaviour (...) are evaluated. They rest on different understandings of organisational culture and the processes by which ethics are enhanced. Firstly, the prevailing approach holds that creating a unitary cohesive culture around core moral values is the solution to enhancing ethical behaviour. Both the feasibility and desirability of this approach, in terms of ethical outcomes, is questioned. The second model queries the existence of organisational culture at all, arguing that organisations are nothing more than shifting coalitions of subcultures. In this second model, the very porousness of the subcultures provides a catalyst for the scrutiny and critique of norms and practices. Such diversity and debate is construed as potentially a better safeguard for ethical behaviour than the uniformity promised by the unitary, strong culture model. (shrink)
Gianni Vattimo, the Italian philosopher and politician, has argued that the end of colonialism and imperialism and the rise of the society of mass communication have contributed to the emergence of the postmodern. Modernity‘s unilinear conception of history is no longer possible in the face of multiple cultures and subcultures coming to the microphone across countries in the West. This article considers this view in the light of the problematizing comments made by the philosopher Slavoj Žižek on the nature of (...) culture – that it is something people do not take seriously and therefore people do not regard science as a culture. If science is apart from culture, then modernity can continue as the grand narrative of the increasing rationalisation of humankind as shown by the emancipating effects of science expressed through technology. Resources from Vattimo‘s broader philosophical programme are drawn upon to argue that not taking culture seriously is a postmodern condition and that science is cultural. (shrink)
Bourdieu's theory of culture offers a rich conceptual resource for the social-scientific study of religion. In particular, his analysis of cultural capital as a medium of social relations suggests an economic model of religion alternative to that championed by rational choice theorists. After evaluating Bourdieu's limited writings on religion, this paper draws upon his wider work to craft a new model of "spiritual capital." Distinct from Iannaccone's and Stark and Finke's visions of "religious capital," this Bourdieuian model treats religious knowledge, (...) competencies, and preferences as positional goods within a competitive symbolic economy. The valuation of spiritual capital is the object of continuous struggle and is subject to considerable temporal and subcultural variation. A model of spiritual capital illuminates such phenomena as religious conversion, devotional eclecticism, religious fads, and social mobility. It also suggests some necessary modifications to Bourdieu's theoretical system, particularly his understanding of individual agency, cultural production, and the relative autonomy of fields. (shrink)
Protagonists in the so-called Science Wars differ most markedly in their views about the role of values in science and what makes science valuable. Scientists and philosophers of science have traditionally considered the principal aims of science to be explanation and application. Only cognitive values should influence what is taken to be explanatory. Social and political values affect the priority assigned to various scientific problems and the ways in which scientific results are applied. Ethical considerations may be brought to bear (...) on the treatment of human and animal subjects, and the manner in which scientific results are communicated. Recent critiques of science allege that the content of scientific explanations reflects the dominant ideology and interests of scientists and their patrons. Instead of calling for more value neutrality, some now urge that science take as a principal aim the emancipation of oppressed subcultures. Not only should progressive political values be allowed to set the problems attempted, they also should be used to constrain the types of answers which are pursued. Since scientific knowledge is constructed by us, we should take responsibility for its content. This paper argues that the project of Emancipationist science is impractical and self-defeating. There is good reason to believe that there would be unresolvable political disputes concerning which kinds of scientific theories are truly emancipiatory. Furthermore, just as placebos cease to work when recognized as such, so would a science known to be constrained by political considerations lose its special epistemic authority. (shrink)
Social attitudes toward usury (here defined using the archaic meaning as the taking of interest on loans) have changed dramatically over the centuries. From antiquity until the Protestant Reformation, usury was regarded as an inherently evil activity. Today, with few exceptions, usury is met with moral indifference. Modern objections to usury are limited to protest against "excessive" interest rates rather than interest per se. With this change in focus, the very meaning of the term "usury" has also changed. Many early (...) pronouncements against the taking of interest emphasized the plight of the poor, but ironically, the poor actually pay the highest rates of interest in the modern American economy. Despite the universality of usury, some socio-economic subcultures still manage to avoid the taking or giving of interest. Orthodox branches of both Judaism and Islam have maintained bans on usury throughout the centuries and up to the present time. This is especially interesting in the case of Judaism, given the popular cultural image of the Jew as usurer. Jewish free loan systems may actually offer a model for modern loan programs that can be designed to aid poor borrowers, who are frequently shut out of mainstream financial services. (shrink)
Electronic Dance Music Culture (EDMC) is one of the largest subcultural musical movements in history. The dance floor is a creative context that engenders a freedom among participants to reshape their social identity within the Temporary Autonomous Zones (TAZ) that raves, the central spaces for EDMC, provide. On the dance floor, participants enter into powerful trances that have the capacity to reshape notions of self and personhood. This paper examines such identity discourses and suggests that trance consciousness re-constitutes the bodily (...) self as an interaction rather than a corporeal body, radically altering the internal dialogue from which notions of self originate. I illuminate this process by articulating the phenomenal experience of musical trancing with scientific theories of human consciousness. Drawing on the ideas of Merleau-Ponty and Damasio, I suggest an integrative model of consciousness that sheds new light upon the complex layering of trance experiences. The potential benefit of this model lies in its ability to theoretically capture the ineffable musical experience and reveal salient processes underlying the self-transformation reported in subjective narratives. This is pertinent not only to EDMC and other musical cultures, but to our more general understanding of the relationship between self and experience in the world. (shrink)
The ongoing debate over multiculturalism involves, among other issues, what might be called the quest for cultural validation: the desire of racial, ethnic, religious, and sexual minorities to be seen as legitimate in their own right. Black, feminist, and gay subcultures, among others, wish to assert their particular differences from prevailing social norms and want to be accepted by the larger culture they are challenging. Legitimacy will be achieved when society incorporates the subcultural differences as normal social variation and when (...) minorities secure the same rights and protections enjoyed by those in the mainstream. This process of validation and acceptance, slow though it may be, is characteristic of our liberal western democracy, so that the indigenous cultural "repertoire" or "palette" has become increasingly diverse. (shrink)
In this paper, I would like to discuss two recent attempts to incorporate groupdifferentiated rights and entitlements into a broadly liberal conception of distributive justice. The first is John Roemer’s “pragmatic theory of responsibility,” and the second is Will Kymlicka’s defense of minority rights in “multinational” states.1 Both arguments try to show that egalitarianism, far from requiring a “color-blind” system of institutions and laws that is insensitive to ethnic, linguistic or subcultural differences, may in fact mandate special types of rights, (...) entitlements, or compensatory arrangements for members of minority groups. These proposals are attractive because they attempt to ground these special rights without reference to controversial philosophical doctrines, but merely through appeal to the widely accepted political norm of equality. Furthermore, if either of these arguments were to succeed, it would allow liberals to avoid many of the difficulties that have often led proponents of “the politics of difference” or the “politics of recognition” to adopt an oppositional stance toward more traditional forms of liberalism.2.. (shrink)
By the early part of the twentieth century, academia in the English-speaking world had stabilized (or ossified!) into a set of scientific and humanistic disciplines that still survives at the century’s end. The natural sciences have such disciplines as physics, chemistry, and biology, and the social sciences include economics, psychology, and sociology. These disciplines provide a convenient organizing principle for university departments and professional organizations, but they often bear little relation to cuttingedge research, which can concern topics that cut across (...) or occur at the boundaries of two or more of the established disciplines. When this happens, productive research and teaching must be interdisciplinary. Cognitive science is the interdisciplinary study of mind, embracing psychology, artificial intelligence, philosophy, neuroscience, linguistics, and anthropology. It is undoubtedly one of the major interdisciplinary successes of the twentieth century, with its own society, journal, and textbooks, and with more than sixty cognitive science programs established at universities in North American and Europe. This paper is an attempt to answer the question: What are the factors contributing to the success of the interdisciplinary field of cognitive science? My discussion is organized around the metaphor of the trading zone, a novel and fertile analogy that Gallison (1997) developed for his rich and detailed discussion of the practices of twentieth-century physics. To understand the diverse groups of December 1, 2006 experimenters and theoreticians, Gallison presents their interactions in terms of the trading zones described by anthropologists: Subcultures trade. Anthropologists have extensively studied how different groups, with radically different ways of dividing up the world and symbolically organizing its parts, can not only exchange goods but also depend essentially on those trades.. (shrink)
This paper attempts to explain why and how the middle class in Korea decisively joined the democratic movement in 1987 by drawing special attention to the role played by the middling grassroots (MG). MG was formed out of the common experience of student activism and contesting subcultures, which were widely dispersed over Korean university campuses during the 1980s. In addition, this paper examines the contrasting views on the Korean democratic transition by Bruce Cumings and Adam Przeworski. This substantive analysis attempts (...) to show how such discord can be resolved by working out a mediating variable between action and social structure. It is suggested that the concept of MG is a good example of such a mediating variable. (shrink)
The gendered subcultures of our society may have different value systems. Consequently, sexual activity that involves members of these subcultures may be problematic, especially concerning the encoding and decoding of consent. This has serious consequences for labelling the activity as sex or sexual assault. Conceiving consent not as a mental act but as a behavioural act (that is, using a performative standard) would eliminate these problems. However, if we remove the mental element from one aspect, then to be consistent we (...) must remove it from all; and, as a result, the “mistaken belief” defense would be eliminated and mens rea would become insignificant (in other words, if what the woman means is irrelevant, then what the man believes or intends should also be irrelevant). This consequence suggests major changes to our current conceptions of legal justice, which changes, if undesirable, prompt reconsideration of the initial proposal to use a performative standard for consent. (shrink)
Contemporary electronic music has splintered into a dizzying assortment of genres and subgenres, communities and subcultures. Given the ideological differences among academic, popular and avant-garde electronic musicians, is it possible to derive an aesthetic theory that accounts for this variety? And is there even a place for aesthetics in twenty-first-century culture? Listening through the Noise explores genres ranging from techno to electroacoustic music, from glitch to drone music, and from dub to drones, and maintains that culturally and historically informed aesthetic (...) theory is not only possible but indispensable for understanding electronic music. The abilities of electronic music to use preexisting sounds and to create new sounds are widely known. Author Joanna Demers proceeds from this starting point to consider how electronic music is changing the way we listen not only to music, but to sound itself. The common trait among all variants of recent experimental electronic music is a concern with whether sound, in itself, bears meaning. The use in recent works of previously undesirable materials like noise, field recordings, and extremely quiet sounds has contributed to electronic music's destruction of the "musical frame," the conventions that used to set apart music from the outside world. In the void created by the disappearance of the musical frame, different philosophies for listening have emerged. Some electronic music genres insist upon the inscrutability and abstraction of sound. Others maintain that sound functions as a sign pointing to concepts or places beyond the work. But all share an approach towards listening that departs fundamentally from the expectations that have governed music listening in the West for the previous five centuries. (shrink)
The framework in which, better than in any other, cultural complexity becomes clear as a network of perspectives is the city: it is here that the greatest variety of subcultures, together with the widest range of contrasting modalities, seems able to handle its meaning. The city is at the same time an active place of cultural production and a passive and active place of memory keeping. It fuels styles and models of sensitivity also, and especially, through art and architecture. Therefore, (...) it becomes itself a cultural model able to orient taste, but also to continually disorient it through agency. Starting from the revitalization of the cultural capital of the cities, art can play the important role of cultural magnet by catalyzing moods and emotions, conveying otherwise chaotic needs and languages, promoting new tolerance and social and cultural integration. However, in the meantime, from a secluded and distinct place that organizes the use of cultural and artistic products within recognizable boundaries, the city is becoming an undifferentiated place, a city-beyond, scattered and/or boundless. Characterized by the undifferentiated and the mutant, the uncertain and the liquid, the deformable and the relative, the space of art perception will be rethought within and without the city. (shrink)
This study investigates the differences in ethical beliefs between blacks and whites in the United States. Two hundred and thirty four white students and two hundred and fifty five black students were presented with two scenarios and given the Reidenbach-Robin instrument measuring their ethical reactions to the scenarios.Contrary to previous research, the results indicate that the two groups, which belong to different subcultures, have similar ethical beliefs.
The new push to move political issue activity from the federal to the state and local levels—a new New Federalism—has implicationsfor the ethical and political legitimacy of business political activity. While business political activity at the federal level may be both lesscostly and less risky than when action shifts to states or localities, at the state or local level it is likely to be more visible, and individual firms may be perceived to have more power. Increased corporate power raises questions (...) about the legitimacy of firm involvement in the political process at the state and local levels. The issue of legitimacy is viewed in the context of the literature on political subcultures being used to study state economic development. (shrink)
This volume comprises a number of letters between author Anindita Niyogi Balslev and philosopher Richard Rorty. The letters explore ways to generate a creative and critical crosscultural discourse not only by challenging stereotypes about cultures and subcultures in general and traditions of thought in particular, but by being careful not to abolish the common ground on which stereotypes can be addressed.
Our aim in this paper is to identify the ways in which the new Romanian television has removed itself from its former (communist) status and orienta- tion, and has tuned in to the global media, in turn undergoing changes prompted, on the one hand, by new communication technologies and, on the other hand, by geopolitical changes per se occurring world- wide. We intend to show how the new types of media, particularly television, having interconnected consumers everywhere into a global village, (...) and having facilitated the segmentation of audiences and the targeting of audiences with narrowly focused messages, have impacted young Romania television viewers. We will also try to track the ways in which global media symbols interact with local specificities and are socially mediated with the direct intervention of culturally situated local young audiences. In addition, we hope to prove that young Romanian television viewers are adept managers of the multivalent televi- sion messages, which they successfully decode in ways that serve their subcultural interests and needs. (shrink)